A Word About Phones

There are some old booth phones in the underground garage by the 79th Street Boat Basin. A fine place to kiss somebody or wipe an eyelash off their nose in relative private.

My favorite telephone ring in the world is Italy's. It's sorta raspy. When I was researching a piece this year for Metro-the-subway-paper, about mozarella, I called up a so-called mozarella bar (well, the Times printed an article that stretched *that* one just a bit, it turned out) in Rome. The ring made me so happy, I called once again when I knew the place would be closed. I could have fallen asleep to its version of electropurr. Certainly linked me to exquisite drops of time from my early 20s, and to the happy memory of language skills that actually improved with wine. In Italy, things were often backward in ways that turned out well.

In any case, maybe if we had phone booths once again in the city, it would add some much-needed inefficiency. Especially if they were situated in zones where there isn't any cell phone reception. George Bush would appreciate them; he could do a photo-op running out of one in a Superman costume.

Please vote For Your Favorite World Genuine Landline Telephone Ring. Operators are standing by.